Where We're Going, We Don't Need Roads
by Wendish
Summary: A quasi-crack fic into the future of B&B. Inspired by two wonderful fic authors - Jazzyproz & DG Schneider (mostly, Mr. DG Schneider).


_Created April 2014 - ____I don't own these characters as made famous by the TV show, Bones. Love them anyway. All the rest that follows is my feeble attempt to keep time in between broadcasts and Razztaztic, Threesquares, and Covalent Bond postings._

_____Don't own Back to the Future Either. But it is my favorite Universal Studios ride!_

A/N: 04/07/2014 – this one-shot is for Jazzyproz and DG Schneider. DG was authentic enough to share with me and Jazzyproz the deets on her hubby's "talk" with their youngest son. While I do hint at the key themes of the outputs of the talk, I _promise_ you my tale is a mere iota of delightful that the true story holds. But thanks to both for the inspiration. 8K+ words later, Cheers ladies! I hope that you both enjoy this one!

Warning: This is silly! In a past life, I was often asked to write visioning essays on the impact/future of tech on our everyday. I take a few indulgences with this one. I'm sure you'll figure out where accordingly

* * *

A catlike Temperance Brennan stretched her neck and spine as she walked down the hallway. As she approached her half-cracked bedroom door, she huffed a laugh at the sound of her husband mumbling expletives at the monitor.

She had _finally _gotten into the pattern of doing it: she had checked the calendar before she ordered the lights out in her Anthropologist's Cave. It was mid-September, so she suspected that her spouse's fussiness had originated from one of six sources: the Phillies or the Nationals; the Eagles or the Red Warriors; or the Flyers or the Capitals.

Aside from the smug mini-grin of confidence in her deduction, she silently celebrated her academic achievements at Understanding Seeley Booth – the most complex area of study that she had ever pursued.

As a student, Temperance Brennan had come a long way. After twelve years of relatively blissful romantic tether and seventeen years of partnership with Booth, she felt very confident in her competency to discern one sport from another. And, she thought triumphantly – one team from another.

While she was in no way yet a Master, Brennan had been working on a few theorems that help to stabilize certain subtopics that had befuddled her into a state of chaos _for years_. Although even **_she_** believed that her husband existed for the sole purpose of defying logic and reason, she found her endeavors of "sciencing" Booth (his words) equally exciting and reassuring.

_Sciencing Booth_.

One such milestone had been reached years ago, while she observed him and his boy during one of Parker's visits. Forfeiting her frustration that he reveled in the sports at all, Brennan finally accepted it, and in doing so, stumbled upon a core formula related to her spouse's love of sports.

**_An excerpt:_**

_Formula TO CALCULATE BOOTH's SPORTS Fanaticism FOR ANY GIVEN SPORT _

Where the _n _represents any one sport,

Booth Sports Fandom = 5_n_(Childhood Team) + _n_(Transplant Team)

_[A childhood team was_ defined as one that he followed or supported up to the age of sixteen, the age limit set by the point at which Booth had sacrificed his virginity, whereby achieving the culturally accepted status of manhood. (This distinction would also serve as a testable variant, as she planned to apply her formula to Parker, Michael Vincent and her own son, Henry. Her expectation was that their entrance into manhood would occur at different ages. Parker's achievement, for example, had occurred at seventeen.)

_A transplant team_ was defined as a team that Booth followed, and that fulfilled two criteria: 1) he did not begin to follow them until he had reached the age of culturally recognized manhood and 2) the team represented a regional area (not his hometown) to which he had traveled and subsequently resided for more than 10 days.]

Excited by the possibilities in this area, Brennan had been working with Zack on another formula pertaining to Booth's _cumulative_ love of sports. Brennan postulated that since her mate had a fundamental love of **_all _**sports (sports that he, himself accepted as a sport), Brennan was certain that his love of all sports could be calculated as a mathematic progression toward infinity.

**_This_** calculation would take some time (Ethan, her go-to math guy had passed away a decade ago, after all). But she and Zack had made headway by agreeing to a constant: since Booth's favorite sport was without question hockey, they determined that hockey should be represented by the value "1", and all other sports could be represented by a number yet to be calculated, but in some proportionate distance to, but less than "1". This agreement was a milestone step on the path to an algorithm, a fact which delighted her tremendously.

So delighted she had been weeks back with the output of her visit with Zack, that she completely ignored her husband's snide remark about how she had more friends in the Looney Bin than in the neighborhood (You know of Zack, of course, but both Drs. Fisher and Wells had continued to struggle with mental balance, as well. And, Brennan had also discovered an interesting friend and point of view in Jeffrey Hodgins). Brennan had ignored Booth's true, but snarky observation.

Instead, she had elected to relieve her husband of his trousers as she explained to him her findings.

* * *

And now, as she approached the door, the personal and persistent nature of the expletives convinced her of which team served as the root cause for Booth's diatribe. The wife of a gambler, she placed a silent wager with herself on the culprit: _The Phillies._

From there, she set the stakes.

_If it is the Phillies, then I will initiate the romantic overture. If it is not, then I will wait for Booth to initiate. _

She smiled conspiratorially at her wicked thoughts. She knew that in either instance, she was assured a satisfying orgasm. However, in the instance where she chose correctly, her additional satisfaction with guessing correctly would further spike her dopamine levels and increase her likelihood of multiple orgasms.

Pushing through the door, there she observed her partner, sitting on their bedroom loveseat, feet kicked up on an ottoman, his lap bordered on one side by a bottle of beer and on the other by the remote, while a bowl of popcorn occupied her coveted spot.

"Oh! C'mon son! You've got to be kidding me!" he barked at the screen. Sensing his wife's entry, he turned to Brennan. "Hon, did you _see_ that? Fucking Ryan! Twenty two years old! Can't bear to run out a grounder?!"

Brennan laughed at the three bits of popcorn that projectiled from his mouth back into the bowl.

"Twenty two! The kid can run laps around me, but I guess his pockets are _too full of money_!" he fussed. "_Our money_!" he spat out. "Do you know who I miss? Derek Jeter. That dude ran out _every play_. Ended his career fifteen points higher because of it!" he groused. "They just don't make players like that anymore."

Brennan frowned. Her knowledge of Derek Jeter was as a part owner of the Yankees, not as a player. (And of course she knew of the Triple-Crown winning, Steinbrenner owned racehorse named in his honor: _"Here Comes Jeter", b_ut she was certain Booth was speaking of the man.)

In the past few years, Brennan and Booth had had the opportunity to meet the man on several occasions since they and Arastoo (who, like her husband, had a genuine love of baseball) partnered to purchase a 40% stake in the Philadelphia Phillies.

It had all happened quite unceremoniously. After many consolatory beers with Booth on his father's passing, Arastoo disclosed the volume of his inheritance, and his desire to find a suitable investment.

That evening, they had also discovered their mutual love affair with baseball.

Still, it had been Brennan and Cam who had suggested to both men a partnership between Dr. Vaziri and the Booths, and on a smaller scale Dr. Hodgins and Mr. Abernathy. Registering as the B2V LLC, Brennan and Finn served as silent partners, deferring to the expertise of Booth and Arastoo on player opinions, while Hodgins brought his business expertise to the group. Cam had been too busy with Sirin's demands and a post-Brennan Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab to play any role of significance, not that she wanted to.

Even as a professional sports team owner, Booth still loved hockey more (a fact that supported her theorem, and had also reminded Brennan to study Booth's prioritization of sports as it related to him actually playing the sport). But when it came to passion, the personal fortune of his wife ("theirs", something that he would never get used to) spent on the Phillies definitely commanded his attention.

"That's our investment right there, Bones!" he groused. "We're two games out! If this kid's not hustling _now_, we can kiss any thoughts of post season goodbye!"

Frowning, she handed Booth the remote and moved the popcorn to the far end table as she sat down beside him. "You seem to feel very strongly about his lackluster performance. Perhaps we should suggest to the GM that he be fired or demoted."

Booth's eyes rounded with incredulity. "Bones, he signed a seven year deal with us last year. He's not like one of your perfect genius interns that you used to threaten with termination every five seconds because they were holding a bone the wrong way. We have a multiyear contract with this bozo! We gave millions of dollars to a kid Parker's age. The least that he can do is show a little effort, for God's sake!"

Brennan partly heard Booth's words, but was distracted by his wildly gesticulating right arm and her desire for his romantic attention. In a Miyagi moment, she caught Booth's wrist and rewarded herself by wrapping it around her shoulders. Amused by the overture, Booth calmed a bit, and scooted further into the left corner to allow his wife to kick her legs up on the ottoman and pulled her into a cuddle.

"Very well then." she sighed against his chest, snaking her arms around his waist. "Coaching and mentorship will have to do. Though, I do believe that Major League Baseball should institute payment of the league minimum to all players, with the promise of bonus and incentives only when the player achieves success exceeding predefined metrics."

Brennan pouted as Booth's frame vibrated with laughter. "Of course you do. But that's not how pro sports works. Everyone is _not equal_. Stars draw the fans. Fans mean revenue. Revenue means we've got more money to draw bigger stars. What you're suggesting is too…logical."

Booth slipped his fingers into her hair to massage her scalp. And while she melted at the feel of his firm touch, her annoyance with his quick dismissal of her proposal persisted. Back-swatting his hand away, she quipped "are you getting popcorn in my hair?" to which he responded only with a grin.

After all, _he knew why she wanted to cuddle._

Rolling her eyes, an acquiescent Brennan gestured for Booth to pass her the beer. "Logical, yes. It's quite practical." She gulped a quick swig before returning the bottle to her mate.

"You. Are. So. Full. Of. Shit!" He teased as he finished the beer. "Bones, this is capitalism. You are a product of capitalism. Pro sports is capitalism! Private ownership in pursuit of profit in a free market. Free market means competition. As owners, we procure the resources that we need in order to put the best product that will attract the most consumers! Sometimes that requires a leap of faith, and yes! I know you don't believe in faith!" He placed the empty bottle on the side table. "But what you want to do sounds like socialism!" Booth slipped his hands under her cardigan, untucking the back of her shirt. His thumbs slowly caressed up and down her spine. "You're a socialist!" he accused.

"What? That's ridiculous! I completely disagree!" she countered, placing the heels of her feet on top of his shins. "Ultimately, with my approach, the best performers will receive higher rewards because_ they are_ the best performers. I'm merely suggesting that the players demonstrate a commitment to achievement _before_ they are compensated, not because of the _promise _of future performance." She thumbed the fly of his jeans.

"Really _Miss Seven-Figure-Book Advance?_ Do you know how hypocritical that you sound?" he chuckled.

Brennan pursed her lips. "The scenarios are not alike. An _advance_ in book publishing really is more of a base salary. In my situation, any revenue from book purchases is, in fact a bonus from that base. The success of a book's reception demonstrates my superiority to other authors. As a result, for my next book, I receive an increase in my salary. While, I'll admit, the literal definition of the word means 'to pay before due', in the context of book publishing, it really is a salary."

"Total bullshit, Bones! You can't change the meaning to win the argument!" he chuckled as he unfastened her bra.

"Several words have changed their meaning in our lifetime, Booth! The word 'dial' for example. You _dial_ numbers every day, but the verb actually had means to place a call by operating a rotary phone…"

"Your hands are cold!" he twitched as her fingers tickled his belly. "And now you're just being ridiculous!" he argued.

"Help me warm them up." She breathed, her fingers traveling up his sides. "I was only awarded a ten thousand dollar advance before my first book, you know. Ten thousand dollars is a modest sum."

"Hey that tickles!" he yelped, as her hands grazed his armpits and traveled down his arms. "And you keep forgetting that you were given that money before you even wrote a word." He pulled her feet up onto the arm of the loveseat. "Ten grand is nothing to sneeze at, Baby."

Brennan elbowed her way back slightly onto the couch, watching as Booth began to unbutton her blouse. "Didn't you once tell me that you won and lost ten grand in an evening when you were gambling? You must not have considered it a substantial amount." She clawed for him to pull off his t-shirt.

He groaned at the fact his wife forgot nothing. "Touche." He conceded as he let her pull off his shirt. "But face it Bones, you're a hypocrite. And a socialist!"

He cut off her obvious outrage with a kiss. Still not yet best situated on the sofa, Booth pulled Brennan up so that her head rested on the opposite arm of the loveseat. Through the movement, Brennan squeaked and grunted at her husband's delicious assault on her mouth. When both achieved a comfortable positioning – Brennan blanketed by the weight of her still-very-well-muscled husband, and Booth with a handful of hair in one hand (the other occupied with a warm, full, soft, welcoming breast), they released from their kiss.

Both smiled sweetly at each other as Booth smoothed Brennan's hair. He loved the strands of gray that she (finally) had let grow in. Brennan traced the lines that had formed around Booth's forehead and eyes.

Seventeen years they had known each other. Seventeen years of friendship, love and respect for each other. Seventeen years of curious glances, long gazes and (in the early years, unrequited) wanting.

And seventeen years of bickering.

"I am not a socialist!" Brennan bellowed.

"You are!" Booth accused playfully. "Admit it…"

Their voices boomed and bellowed down the hallway and down the stairs. And while the distance was far enough to muffle the conversation, it startled two of the visitors nonetheless.

Kimmel and Fallon looked at each other with alarm, before Fallon (younger, but the braver sister) asked her host "Is that your parents fighting?"

Michael Vincent chuckled as he reached for the bowl of popcorn that Uncle Booth had popped for them about 20 minutes earlier. Grabbing a spilling handful, he passed it to Christine, who exchanged mortified looks with her little brother, and then a glare at her giggling baby sister and her best friend, Sirin.

In a silent language taught to them by their parents, they elected Christine to reply.

"No. That's what my big brother calls foreplay." She sighed, as her brother LB turned the volume up on the latest Marvel movie.

* * *

"I'm telling you, they've got to be done by now." Michael Vincent assured Christine as they approached the stairs. "It's almost been an hour. Aunt Cam told _my_ mom that _your_ mom is already lucky _enough_, that there's no way that Uncle Booth can still keep going all night like when _they_ used to do it."

"Daddy used to do it with Aunt Cam?" Christine scrunched her face in shock. "Gross. She's so skinny!"

"I think it was a long time ago, before Uncle Ari." He consoled. "Dad said she used to be really hot when she weighed more. She did it with Uncle Grayson too. But that was before he and my mom got back together again." He said, frowning.

Christine matched her best friend's face as they ascended the stairs. "How's Dr. Wick?"

Michael smiled sheepishly. "Daisy's cool. But I still think my Dad still misses Mom. He gets so sad after they see each other." Wanting to change the subject as they walked down the hall, he continued. "See! I told you they were done! You're mom's talking normal again…"

* * *

Brennan grunted. "The FBI is a socialist entity, Booooooth! As a federal employee, you and your cohorts are not… um, ah! …not really compensated by performance rather, you're bound to pre-defined rate tables that inform your salary threshold." She gasped. "When you were in the field, mmmmph! …You were one of the **_best-oh-my-God-the-best _**agents in the country…mmmm, **_the best_**! And yet you still oh, ooooooonly received compensation within the predefined salary range. Ahhhhhh! Given his tenure with the Bureau, I would suspect Charlie makes…**OH**!"

Booth chuckled as he felt his wife's entire body tense. "Attagirl! Let go Bones! Mmmmm, I'll never get enough of the taste of- …whoa!" When Booth had looked up at his wife, he noted the alarmed look on her face. Turning, through the bend of her knee (her foot being planted conveniently on his shoulder, after all), he caught the looks of his daughter and her best friend.

Horror and amazement, respectively.

"Daddy! Christine scolded. "Mooooooommm! Gross!"

Popping up from between her mother's legs, Booth quickly grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa and threw it at a very exposed Brennan. Sitting next to his wife, closest to the door to give Brennan time to cover herself. However, not even Booth and the big bowl of popcorn were able to fully obstruct the view for a very impressed Michael Vincent Hodgins.

"Woooooooow!" Michael Vincent sang as he stole a glimpse of his buxom aunt.

"Hey! No peeking, kid!" Booth snapped.

"Booth, they are _just breasts_. Michael has seen breasts before! Angela is an artist. There are nudes all over both her and Hodgins' homes!" Brennan protested as she buttoned up her blouse.

"Not in the kid friendly parts." He retorted hostily. He turned his glare onto the two kids. "You both know to knock before coming into our room!"

"When the door is closed, you said!" Christine defended. "The door was half open."

Booth turned with an exasperated look at Brennan.

_Arrrrgh! The nitpicking specificity!_ _She gets that from you, you know!_

"We're sorry!" a flushed, but penitent Michael Vincent offered.

Brennan motioned for Booth to calm down. "What is it Christine?"

"We're done with the movie." Kimmel and Fallon are ready to go home. Can you walk them, Daddy?" asked a deflated Christine, who had elected to speak to door.

"Uh, yeah. Sure Honey." Booth said uneasily. Realizing that his state of arousal was not yet fully meted, he shifted uncomfortably. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be down, okay?" Brennan snickered, much to his irritation. "Don't!" he warned her.

Exit a traumatized Christine and a tantalized Michael Vincent.

Brennan stroked her husband's thigh in consolation. "It's not the first time, Booth."

"I know, Bones. But never as graphic _as that_." He wailed. "And not with Mikey, too! I mean, what is she thinking right now? I know what _he'_s thinking, he's thinking about your tits! He's gonna be with us for two more weeks! What if they want to experiment on each other again? Remember the shaving incident?"

Brennan attempted to suppress a smile.

* * *

When Michael Vincent was seven, Angela and Hodgins had agreed to a trial separation. While they sorted some things out, they had asked Booth and Brennan to watch their only child. For a whole month, Michael Vincent took shelter in the Booth household, during which time his best friend attempted to use logic to make sense of his parent's breakup.

Kid logic.

Temperance Brennan's kid's kid logic.

Christine had explained to Michael that _her_ Mommy loved her Daddy. If his Mommy didn't love his Daddy, they should look for outliers. And through the eyes of a seven year old, the only way his Daddy was different from her Daddy was that Uncle Hodgie had a beard.

Ergo, lose the beard, and your Mommy will love your Daddy again.

Michael had expressed his concerns, but Christine had assured him that she knew what she was talking about. Often had she watched her Daddy shave in the mornings, and she observed how Mommy liked to be close to Daddy after he had shaved. (However, due to her early bedtime, what she hadn't seen was how often Mommy had enjoyed Daddy's scratchy face against her naked body the evenings prior. Mommy just liked being close to Daddy.)

Christine had concluded that Uncle Hodgie didn't know how to shave correctly, and that's why he had a fuzzy face even after he tried to shave…and _that's_ why Aunt Angela didn't love him anymore. Michael Vincent needed to show his Daddy how to shave right. Christine insisted on demonstrating on Michael's face. After all, like her mother, Christine Booth was confident that if she observed something enough, that she of course would be able to perform the task.

_But, we all know how Mommy's ballroom dancing adventure turned out, don't we?_

And so, two hysterical children and four stitches later, Daddy's razors were moved to a locked portion of the cabinet, and four parents commiserated over the realization – Christine was the Brennan to Michael Vincent's Booth.

* * *

Try, though she might, Brennan couldn't hide her smile. "Don't laugh, Bones! This is serious. They're almost 'tweens'!" He let the term spill from his mouth with disgust as he considered his little buddy Mikey, let alone any boy, touching his little girl. "This will only get worse!" he moaned, placing his head in his hands. "Arrrgh! Do you think that we should talk with them about this? You know, about…sex?"

"Together?" Brennan asked hopefully while she stood to pull her underthings and leggings back up.

Absent mindedly, Booth ran his hand from the curve of her rear to the full of her thigh. Turning her to him, he pillowed his head against her lower belly as he hugged her around her legs. Brennan gently stroked his hair as he mumbled, the side of his mouth smushed against her pelvis. "Nah, I'll talk to Mikey. I'll make him walk the Late Nights home with me. You talk to Christine."

"Booth, don't call them the Late Nights!" She chided. "OK. I'll speak with Christine." Brennan responded quietly, considering whether or not she should admit to Booth that her question was not about speaking with Michael and Christine together, but rather she _and_ Booth – as a couple – speaking with them. She made her decision. "I would like it, if after you and Michael return, if you could join my conversation with Christine."

Booth looked up at his wife. He sensed her uncertainty. He stood, settling his hands to her waist as he waited for her to elaborate.

"I know that I can easily explain the technical side of sex to Christine." She winced, "but I'm better at speaking about love when you're beside me." She gained confidence as Booth smiled at her. "I want her to understand that love is more than sex and chemicals. I want her to know that from both of us."

A loving grin dimpled Booth's face. "OK Bones. Not a problem. It'll be the easiest hard thing that I ever do." He kissed her forehead, triggering a release of tension from her shoulders. "You know what? We should probably call Hodgins and Angela first."

"Yes. That would be wise." Brennan agreed. Even though both treated Michael Vincent like he was their own, they knew it would be best to secure buy-in and guidance from the wayward couple.

Booth buttoned Brennan's breast point button and then combed softly through her mutinous hair. "Broadcast: off." He commanded. "Call Angela. Add Call; call Hodgins" he alerted the voice activated dialing system. The monitor transitioned from the ballgame to webcam dialing screens.

Angela's call connected first. "Hey guys! What's going on?" Angela appeared to be walking from inside a gallery, out to the street.

"Hi Ange." Booth greeted.

"Ange, we're waiting on Hodgins' line to connect." Brennan informed her friend.

Almost immediately, Angela's face began to pale. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, Ange. How's Prague?"

"Hello Booths!" announced a cheerful Jack Hodgins. Noting that his ex wife was also on the call, his tone softened immediately. "Angie?" "Guys, is everything okay? Where's Michael Vincent?"

"He's downstairs with the kids. Everything's fine." Booth assured both parents. Trusting Booth completely, both exes relaxed and surreptitiously stole glances at each other.

Brennan announced. "We wanted to inform you that Michael Vincent and Christine walked in on us engaging in a sex act."

"D'oh!" Hodgins snickered while Angela hooted.

"_Really_!" Angela sang. "What were you two dirty birds doing? And where?"

Booth growled, having predicted _this_. "The details don't matter. But what we were doing? It was pretty…_advanced _for eleven and twelve year old eyes."

"Brennan! Spill." Threatened Angela.

Brennan eyed the tension forming in her husband's neck. "She's just going to keep asking, Booth. You _know_ Angela."

"She's right." Hodgins added. "C'mon, man. We've all been there…" he cajoled. His connection began to buffer.

"Let's just say, Bones was doing all the talking." Booth said quickly. Brennan couldn't hold back a mischievous smirk.

The point was made.

"Nice!" Angela cheered.

"Well done, Sir!" Hodgins added.

"Well, we didn't get to finish…" Brennan added, even though she knew the risk to Booth's blood pressure.

"Guys! Enough! We're telling you guys, because Bones and I think that maybe we need to explain some things to the kids. Give them _the talk? _Bones and I are definitely gonna talk to Christine, and we wanted to know what you wanted us to do…"

"Oh! Yeah, definitely. Thanks for calling. For asking." Angela replied. Hodgins' connection buffered again. "Jack, where are you? Your connection's crap."

"I'm still on the plane." Hodgins realized that Angela hadn't read his text from an hour earlier. He responded quickly. "Daisy and I got called to do a consult on some remains in Montreal. Listen, Ange I'll call your mobile, okay?" Angela shook her head. "Guys we'll call you right back."

"Okay guys. Great. Thanks!" Booth said. Both calls changed status to "disconnect."

Somewhat awkwardly, Mr. Booth and Mrs. Booth regarded each other, both of them feeling the unease of their friends' broken friendship. Brennan put her hand on his chest, and Booth spoke first. "Bones, I'm so glad that I have you."

Brennan pursed her lips together. "I was thinking the same thing. I love you, Booth." She stepped into him.

"I love you too, Bones." He leaned in to first nuzzle her nose, and then press a chaste kiss to her mouth. Clearing his throat, he informed her. "I'm gonna get uh, cleaned up, and then go take the O'Briens home. If they don't call back before they're set, then just send me a text with instructions, okay?" he started toward the bathroom door.

"OK." Brennan agreed, pressing two fingers to her bottom lip. "I'll have Christine help me get LB, Joy and Sirin ready for bed. And, Booth?"

"Yeah Bones?"

She grinned, finally taking a moment to savor the memory of the exquisite servicing that was so abruptly interrupted. "You owe me an orgasm."

Booth smiled.

* * *

Standing in the doorway, guarding his frame with Michael Vincent's, Booth waved. "Okay Leno! Letterman! Have a good night now! Thanks for coming over, heh, heh!" Booth teased.

Kimmel and Fallon rolled their eyes and giggled as they headed up the second floor stairs. "Good night Mr. Booth, g'night Mikey!"

"Are you sure you boys don't want to stay for some hot chocolate? It's getting nippy out there…" The girls' mother asked with about as much feigned innocence that she could muster. Every fiber in her being was screaming _I-was-dumb-enough-to-marry-a-Hill-Rat-moron-who-thought-it-would-be-clever-to-name-our-kids-after-TV-shows-won't-you-save-me-with-your-penis? _ Obviously her husband wasn't home and she obviously had no regard for how inappropriate she was.

Booth exhaled as he asked God to forgive this desperate woman who was blatantly tugging her shirt down in front of him and a twelve year old boy. Yet before he could find the words to civilly decline, Michael offered. "No thanks! I know Uncle Booth wants to get home to Aunt Temperance. He says she's all the hot that he needs, and then some!"

Booth looked down at his brilliant nephew. "Uh, heh heh! You heard the kid. Have a good night, Jen! Give Gary my best. C'mon Mikey!" Booth scurried the both of them from the trap, er, house.

Booth checked his phone. He had received the all clear from Angela and Hodgins for _the talk_. He found himself actually excited by the opportunity.

With all of the adults in his life (one of them being his fickle ex, one of them being a genius and the other, her science teacher father), Parker was informing _Booth_ when they had _the talk_. The chat had been more of a "check your work" exercise, consisting of a series of five word sentences (do you know about _), followed up by a shrug of the shoulder and response of "yeah" and then a three to five sentence technical explanation.

Henry (everyone called him LB for "Little Booth") was only three, and though this year he would be just 50, a life-weathered Seeley Booth would have to admit that more than once he had wondered if he's make it to Henry's teenage years.

But Mikey…this was his first genuine "talk". He owed Hodgins big time.

The dark cloak of the cool September evening welcomed a companionable silence between the pair. The late evening's hour also allowed them the freedom to walk freely down the rarely trafficked street. Booth watched the street lights dance orange off the mop of little boy's auburn locks as Michael Vincent watched their shadows on the road.

_Here goes nothing._

"So uh, thanks for the save back there Mikey!" he gushed. "Mrs. O'Brien can be a bit pushy. You picked up on that, huh?"

"Yeah." He responded distractedly. Booth eyed his little friend, who was slow to continue his response. Eventually, he looked up with sad eyes and replied "I want you and Aunt Tempe to stay together forever, Uncle Booth. I don't want anybody to get in the way of that."

Booth could feel a little bit of his heart break. He slipped a protective hand around the back of Michael Vincent's neck. "Me neither, Pal." He pulled Michael Vincent to his hip as they continued to walk a little further in silence.

"I love your Auntie Bones more than anything on this earth, Mike. She doesn't like for me to say it, but she's my best friend. When I'm happy, I can't wait to see her. And when I've had a bad day, I can't wait to hold her and tell her about it. Even when we disagree with each other, which as you know, is _a lot_…I know in my heart that we respect each other enough _to disagree._ Do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so. You love her, no matter what." Michael Vincent observed.

Booth faked a chuckle. "Kind of! But it first starts with respect. We've known each other for almost twenty years! Seventeen in total." He sighed. "I don't know if you know it, but we were partners for years before we became a couple."

A surprised Michael Vincent looked up at his uncle. "Yeah! I mean when we first met, we were really attracted to each other, but your Auntie Bones is smart. She knew better than to get involved too fast, and I respected that. A gentleman always follows the lady's lead, no exceptions." Booth emphasized. "So we worked together, got to know each other, grew up together a bit, too. We went through _a lot_ together, building trust and friendship. And uh, eventually we fell in love." He sighed.

"Cool." Michael Vincent considered his words, and then he asked "So how long before you and Aunt Tempe became boyfriend/girlfriend?"

"Um, seven years."

"Seven years?"

"Yeah."

"Uncle Booth, don't you have any game? That's like a long time!"

"It's a long time for you because you're twelve! I've got good game, Buddy!" Booth defended.

"Wow! Didn't you want to kiss her or nothing? I mean, Aunt Tempe! She's megahot! "

Remembering several leaps over the line, Booth admitted with a grin "Well, I got to kiss on her _a little_ bit, and let me tell ya, sometimes it was _torture _to leave room for the Holy Spirit…but hey! That's beside the point! No calling your aunt - _my wife_ - 'megahot'!" he barked.

"Sorry" Michael Vincent then said softly. "But she is."

"That's it!" Booth teased, pulling him into a faux headlock. "You're going down Buster!"

* * *

"Getting to 88 …what does it feel like?"

Brennan repeated Christine's question, stalling to find a response that Booth would deem appropriate for their eleven year old daughter, especially given the very specific colloquial boundaries her daughter had forced her into. She was certain that her lip was about to bleed, given the pressure that she was applying.

She cleared her throat. "Well, it is a very pleasing, pulsing sensation that crescendos into a-"

"Crescendos?" Christine queried.

"Intensifies? Gets stronger, then peaks, cresting like crashing waves?"

Christine nodded her understanding. "Like Diet Coke and Mentos?"

Brennan frowned, trying to process if she could with good conscience leverage her daughter's analog. "Not exactly, but the comparison is suitable." She laughed. "Yes! The feeling is as if your metaphorical surface tension has been disrupted. _In a very pleasing way._ If you have a skilled partner, you may be able to reach 88, _or faster_, multiple times. However, not all women are able to successfully get to 88 miles per hour. And sometimes they're only able to do it if they're…**_driving_**. Many factors may contribute to this…"

"Mom!" Christine interrupted before her mother went off into a lecture. "I don't need to know all of it!"

Both mother and daughter pursed their lips in unplanned synchronized motion. "No, Christine. It's important to understand. Let me just consider my words..."

Christine sighed as Brennan collected her thoughts. She knew that Daddy got mad when Mom was too technical or graphic and Mom was trying real hard. _Mom says too much and Daddy doesn't say enough. Thank God for Parker. _Christine thought. _Or I'd never understand anything..._

"It feels really good." Brennan sighed, resigned to the lack of description. "Especially when you're with someone you love as much I love your father." She chuckled. "You father is a very skillful lover."

"Mom! Ewwww!" Christine whined.

"Sorry!" Brennan straightened, amused by how similarly skittish her daughter was to her Dad. "I should qualify my statement. In my experience, I have engaged in – relations – with several men."

"But less than Aunt Angela?"

Brennan examined her daughter's face. _When had she collected all of this information?_ "Yes. Less. Until my relationship with your father, I approached – relations – as a means by which to satisfy my biological urges. And I found sex very enjoyable."

"Ewwww!" Christine quipped.

"Christine!" Brennan chided. "This is significant. Please respect that." Christine's eyes rounded in apology.

Brennan gushed. "When your father and I became a romantic couple, my entire perspective about love and who I was, changed. I finally learned that sex was more than a mix of physical and chemical responses. And that love was more than sex."

She brushed a strand of Christine's hair behind her ears and took her hands. "I fell in love with your father a long time before we ever had sex, I just didn't know it." She laughed.

Christine laughed as well. Her mom knew _everything. _

"I'm not joking!" She smiled. "For a long time, I didn't understand the feelings that I had for your Dad. When I first met Booth, I was very attracted to him, similarly to how I had been attracted to other men. But I had made the decision that my affiliation with him would be warrant the most success professionally. He was my partner and we worked together to catch criminals – those things made logical sense to me. However, through the years, things began to happen." Brennan paused.

Christine was familiar with her mother's technique of pausing to encourage Christine to express her understanding or confusion. "Things? Like you got the hots for him?" she asked scrunching her face.

"Yes, well, yes – in the vernacular – I got the 'hots' for your Dad." Brennan chuckled. "But I didn't understand it at the time. You know that interpreting my emotions can be hard for me at times." She reminded her daughter, who nodded. "I had no point of reference to understand that there were certain ways in which Booth and I interacted, that were demonstrations of love."

"Like what?" Christine asked as she stretched out on top of her bed. Brennan stroked her hair.

"Well, your Dad was a bit of a nuisance." Brennan explained. "Before your father, my life was very organized. I kept a strict schedule and was very rigorous about maintaining appointments and honoring socially acceptable behaviors of interaction." Brennan snickered watching Christine's corrugator muscles dance like her father's.

"But _your father_! He _thrived_ on interrupting me! I would be teaching, working on Limbo case…I would be dancing or even on a date with another man…he once even interrupted me when I was in the middle of having s-" Brennan stopped, thinking it best not to put the visual of Mommy having sex with Uncle Tim in Christine's head. That story could wait.

"Well, I guess I just repeated myself, there. I already said 'having a date.'" She lied, relieved at her child's ignorance. "He was infuriating!"

"Mom, how is that showing love?"

"Well," Brennan smiled. "Over time, he began to stop interrupting me. And I missed it. I would go on dates, and even though I promised not to talk about him, I would. I left the country for a year just to get away from him."

"To Makapupu." Christine teased.

Brennan playfully pinched Christine's cheek. "Ha. Ha! Maluku." She corrected, even though she was well aware of the family joke that had now entered a second generation. "I went to Maluku to spend some time away from him, to get some perspective. And every free moment that I had was of thoughts of him."

"Because you loooooovved hiiiiimmmm!" Christine sang.

"Silly! Yes. But I just assumed that my feelings were still one platonic friend missing another, until I came home."

"And Daddy was with the anchor lady."

"Yes." Brennan responded. "Observing their romantic dyad, I realized that, aside from the physical component, their relationship mimicked the core attributes of what our own had been. Wanting to be around each other all the time, discussing work, eating out and having drinks together, confiding in each other, having fun…I lost that with him." She said sadly. "I almost lost him completely."

"But then you guys became a couple!" Christine encouraged.

"Yes, but even that took time. I was still scared, and I let logic protect me. I believed that we would be satisfied by the comforts of our prior dynamic. I was reluctant to make a leap of faith…heh!"

"What Mommy?"

"I was reluctant to compensate the player for the promise of what he could deliver." She smirked, realizing the parallel to her earlier conversation with her husband.

"You paid Daddy? Like a prostitute?" Christine's eyes went wide.

"What! Oh, no!" Brennan stammered, laughing. She shook her head. "I am sorry, I was just thinking about a conversation that your father and I had earlier this evening before-"

"Before you got to 88 miles per hour?" Christine suggested, causing her Mom to laugh.

"Before I got to 88 miles per hour, yes." She affirmed. "Twice!"

"Aw, Mommy! Yuck!"

"And if you two hadn't have walked in…"

Booth approached the door, relieved to hear his wife and oldest daughter laughing. He popped his head into Christine's room. "Hey girls! Can I come in?"

"Yes, Daddy!" Christine approved.

Brennan turned looking confidently at her partner. '_Everything's fine'_ was her silent message. Booth smiled proudly at his best girl, coming to sit beside her on Christine's bed.

"Well, Teenster – the TV Land twins are home and Mikey's finishing up his shower. You and your Mom have been talking?" he opened.

Christine chuckled. "Daddy, don't call them that! That's silly!" She grinned, knowing that her Dad was doing his version of Mom's pausing. "We talked about making babies and sex and lovey dovey stuff!" she giggled.

Brennan shook her head at her "Yes. Christine better understands why we are so affectionate with each other."

"Uh huh. Mommy says likes getting you to 88 miles per hour as much as you like getting her there." Christine affirmed.

Booth's jaw dropped. Defensively, Brennan hurried to explain "Um, that is a euphemism that we settled on to uh, characterize….Uh, it appears that Parker had already _provided some insights to Christine_…?"

"Yeah…to Mikey, also." Booth confirmed with a sheepish grin. Brennan returned the simper.

_Best laid plans. _

Squeezing his eyes shut, Booth said a prayer. Reopening his eyes, he found himself again besotted by the features of his little girl. Now that her hair had darkened to a sandy blonde hue, Christine resembled Booth's projection of his wife as a little girl. Though the framing of her face – her forehead, cheekbones and chin – were classic Booth traits, there was no denying the magic of Bones' beauty peppered in her wide examining blue eyes and her expressive, frowny mouth.

He wasn't ready for this_. _

_My little girl. _He sighed.

Christine watched her father, his eyes cloudy with adoration, her own eyes heavy with sleep. Her Boothy brow furrowed as she stole a glance to her Mom. Dad was here - this was usually where she received her punishment. "Am I in trouble because I walked in your room without knocking?" she asked.

Daddy soothed. "No, Honey. That's okay. You said it, remember? We forgot to close the door. That's on us."

"Yes. We will make a concerted effort to be more diligent in the future, Christine. If we want you to respect our privacy, we should honor our responsibility to be physically amorous _in private." _Mommy added.

Christine's eyes flashed with the promise of freedom. But ever her mother, she was still suspicious. "But…?"

"Well," Booth began, eyeing his wife. "I'm sure you and your mom talked about everything. I just wanted to say that you and your brother and sister? You guys are proof of how much we love each other. And, we just want you to grow up with the understanding that – love, not sex – love, between two people is a really amazing thing. And everything in the universe is better when you're with someone you love….My world is incredible because you're Mom loves me and I like to show her." Booth smiled at his daughter.

Smiling, Christine looked at her Mom. She loved when her Mom looked at her Dad this way. Her face was soft and her eyes were dark. She was trying to control her smile, to hold back from gushing. Christine loved that. She wanted that one day.

"And I promise, that when we do what we do to show each other how much we love each other – we'll do our best to keep from embarrassing you and your brother and sister. Is that fairy, Cranberry?" he teased.

Christine chuckled. "It's a dealy, Seeley!"

"Allright! That's my girl!" he gestured for a high five which was readily reciprocated, followed by a newly recharged Christine lunging into both of her parents for a hug.

Brennan broke; the strength of Christine's hug as well as her tiny lips brushing a "thank you Mommy" whisper against her ear warranted the escape of a single tear. She blushed as she recovered.

But not without her husband calling her out. "Hey look! You made Mommy cry! Bonus points!" he teased.

"That's not nice, Daddy!" Christine scolded as she climbed back into her bed.

The parents performed their bedtime ritual with Christine. Brennan dimmed the lights and puttered quietly around the room while Christine and Booth said their prayers together. They turned to leave her room together, but before a final goodnight, Brennan asked Christine if she had any more questions.

"Uh huh…can Mikey come sleep with me tonight?"

* * *

"What did **_I_ **do?" yelped Parker.

The tell-tale sounds of a very boisterous Three Man game rumbled in the background, further flaming the fires of Booth's irritation. Brennan took this as a cue to speak, leaning into the com-module

"Parker, after speaking with both Christine and Michael Vincent this evening, it's apparent that you've shared some – insights – on love and sex with them?"

"Oh, yeah!" He verified automatically as he used that additional information to interpret his father's frothiness. "Ohhhhhhhh! Uh, yeah! Are we talking about the flux capacitor stuff?"

Booth snapped his eyes to his wife as they shared a look they normally delivered to each other in interrogation. Brennan watched as her irritated co-parent shoved off of the kitchen island and stalked around the kitchen.

"Of course we're talking about the flux capacitor stuff, Parker!" Booth hissed. "What were you thinking?"

"Well…" he began as he escaped the room he was in, as evidenced by the sounds of a "social" fading out of earshot. "They, uh kinda walked in on Maya and me in the middle of something…"

Confused, Booth sought Brennan's guidance. Muting the comm, he asked "Who the fuck is Maya? I thought the girlfriend's name was Zubine!"

"It _is_ Zubine!" Brennan whispered, even though Parker was on mute. "Maya was Parker's girlfriend in England! Remember when she came to visit him last year?"

Booth nodded with acknowledgement. When Max got sick in his high school senior year, Parker had swiftly made the decision to stay "local" to spend as much time with Grandpa Max as possible, electing to go to the University of Pennsylvania for his undergraduate studies. But when Max passed away late in Parker's sophomore year, Parker chose to spend his junior year abroad in at Cambridge, and had reconnected with Maya, a schoolmate from the independent school that he attended in his teens.

Now in his senior year back at UPenn, Parker had "moved on" from Maya to Zubine, who also was a Psych major. (Much to both parents and Tempe's disdain, Parker was following in the footsteps of Uncle Sweets.) Both Zubine and Parker had been working tirelessly to support the latest research of Dr. Sweets and a from-retirement-still-a-chef Dr. Gordon Gordon Wyatt as they expanded further upon Dr. Wyatt's original investigation of female serial killers.

But apparently, this weekend's priority was Three Man.

"Are you guys there?" Parker asked

Brennan unmuted the comm. "Yes, Parker. We're here." Feeling in a much better position to question him, Brennan pushed the conversation forward. "Parker, your learnings in this area are vast. Wh-, why would you tell the kids that sex was like a time-traveling DeLorean vehicle?"

Even though he knew the wringer that he was to be put through, the inebriated senior still had to laugh.

"Parks!" Booth snapped. "Focus!"

Parker continued to chuckle. "Sorry, Dad! But Maya's hand was down my pants when they walked in on us! I had to tell _them something_! I had to clarify, especially since Maya had the _genius_ idea to tell them that she was practicing her dough kneading technique!"

The parents regarded each other with concern. Neither wanted to pose the question. But Booth rallied. "Um, what did you just say?"

"When we were watching the kids, we had been making homemade pizzas." Parker explained. "So when they caught me and Maya in the living room…doing stuff… she thought it was a good idea just to tell them that she was practicing her technique." Parker winced as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

Brennan giggled at the absurdity of her son's ex-girlfriend's logic. Booth planted his head in his hands.

Picking up on Tempe's amusement, Parker continued. "Exactly, Tempe! I had to tell them something a little closer to the truth…"

"Closer to the truth?" Booth cried. "You told them that a woman's reproductive section was like a flux capacitor from Back to the Future! And that having an orgasm is like getting to 88 miles per hour? In what world is that truth, Parker Matthew?"

_Uh oh, the middle name._

"Dad, they're my little sister and little bro! I wanted to explain what was going on, but they were ten! I didn't want to scare them, and we all had just watched the movie!" he defended, then sighed. "Plus, I didn't want you guys to freak them out completely when it was your turn to give them _the talk_."

"But why didn't you at least explain to us what happened, Parker? And what you said?" asked a far calmer Temperance.

Parker covered his face as he shook his head "Because I didn't want to have _this_ conversation!" he whined.

Brennan and Booth looked at each other, both seeming to realize the folly of their situation. Their loving son had to give his little sister an unplanned sex talk.

Just like they had.

* * *

Christine had plead a strong case: Mikey's bunking arrangement had been bumped by the arrival of Joy's bestie Sirin (The very surprising by-product of a later-in-life offspring of Cam and Arastoo). So while Sirin and Joy commandeered the boy's room, Christine was certain that Mikey would prefer sharing her room (as they had done so many times in the past) versus exiling Mikey to a Little Mermaid punishment.

So, while they went to speak with Parker, Mommy and Daddy had agreed to let Mikey join Christine in her room on two conditions: 1) the door would remain open and 2) the parents would be speaking to the both of them once they had consulted with Parker.

It was their ritual. After a big "case" (read as: kerfuffle) wrapped up, Christine and Michael Vincent would end their day together, discussing what had occurred, what happened and what they were going to do about it.

Today had been relatively uneventful, until Uncle Seeley had been caught between Aunt Temperance's legs. Knowing that they had been separated on purpose, the pair were more than anxious to compare notes.

"I think I get why my Mom and Dad split up." Michael Vincent confessed. "They started touching each other too soon. They didn't get to know each other like Uncle Booth and Aunt Tempe."

"Daddy said that he refuses to imagine world again without my Mom." Christine said softly. "Maybe, that's what your Mom and Dad are doing. Spending time away from each other so that they miss each other."

"Maybe." Michael Vincent yawned. "Christine. Let's always be friends, okay?"

"Okay Mikey. I promise."

Parker's in troubbbbbllllle!" Michael Vincent sang, stirring the both of them up into a fit of giggles.

* * *

The fallout had not been too irreparable. Brennan had studied the shape of a flux capacitor, and had agreed with Parker's assessment that – in abstract – it had served as a suitable analog for explaining the female reproductive system to two ten year olds.

And with their efforts that evening, Brennan was confident that a co-facilitated debrief would eliminate any traumatic after-effects of the earlier incident.

Paddling softly down the hall, the pair quietly entered their oldest daughter's room to find the two partners in crime both fast asleep as they had often found in the past.

This time, however, there seemed to be a Chinese wall comprised of pillows and throws between Christine and her best friend.

"See! It's as I've said! Completely innocent! Otherwise, why would they have all of those pillows between them?" Brennan challenged, whispering at a lip's distance from her spouse.

Booth scoffed, closing Christine's bedroom door. "Bones, Mikey's making room for the Holy Spirit."

* * *

A/N2: Silly right? As mentioned, this is a one-shot, so I'll share with you my future for Christine and Michael Vincent. They grow up as good friends through college, who eventually lose track of each other (but never more than one degree). After the loss of one parent (I will not say which), they reconnect and stay connected through occasional correspondence. When they move into their twilight years (one losing a partner to infidelity, the other to divorce), they rekindle their companionship, and ultimately a romance.

As for Angela & Hodgins…yes, they absolutely reunite a la the Paul and Jaime Buchman storyline.

Re: Red Warriors. I'm certain that at some point in time, the Washington Redskins will change their name. Red Warriors is as good as any.


End file.
